


Kings Die by the Crown

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Orgasm, Fucked Up, Gangbang, Genital Torture, HYDRA Trash Party, Infinity Gems, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Sexual Torture, Stun Baton, Torture, Violence, inappropriate use of weaponry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 16:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: In an attempt to lure Thanos away from Wakanda, Steve and Bucky play bait.  But when Thanos catches up to them, he will use all the power he has to get answers out of them, pulling from the horrors of Bucky's past and present to give them every reason to comply...





	Kings Die by the Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



> THIS STORY IS HYDRA TRASH AND THUSLY IS REALLY, REALLY, REALLY FUCKED UP! 
> 
> Please read at your own risk.
> 
> Written for a prompt at [Hydra Trash Meme](https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2464.html?thread=6032800#cmt6032800).

Steve could hear soft, infrequent chatter in his earpiece from Sam and Natasha as they roved the perimeter of the Wakandan shield-barrier. They’d been lucky so far and had managed to keep Vision’s location a secret; now it was time to scatter those who knew that secret so Thanos couldn’t get at any of _them._ Sam would stay with the Wakandan army while Vision and Wanda were being generously sheltered in the Royal Palace. Sam could disappear into Wakanda’s ranks if he had to; Natasha, Steve, and Bucky stood out like sore thumbs. Natasha would make her own way out tomorrow, while Steve and Bucky were flying out now. With Tony gone, the remaining Avengers had to play things very smart. Thanos had resources they couldn’t even guess, and with every Infinity Stone, he became exponentially more dangerous. 

The Obsidian Order had lost track of them when they’d left Europe, and now Steve and Bucky would temporarily play bait. With a small beacon on board that would randomly emit bursts of the energy signature that Thanos and his “children” had been looking for, with any luck they could keep him distracted and away from Wakanda. Long enough for Princess Shuri to find some way of separating Vision from the Mind Stone without killing him…

Bucky had been grim-faced at the news that interstellar war might come to touch the one place he’d found some kind of peace since before he’d shipped out in 1943. “That ain’t happening, Steve. Not here. Not anywhere else. Not now.” And he’d gone with Steve. He’d accepted a new left arm, product of Wakanda’s labs, a new armored suit suited to his style, and taken Nat’s favorite rifle, “for business purposes” with her blessing.

Even in the midst of this high-stakes game of chess, Steve still had a thrill in having Bucky around so close. Skype sessions did a lot to keep them connected and help fill in the gaps, and they’d been talking nearly daily since he’d finally been awoken from cryo with a mind that was no longer subject to Hydra’s control. They’d poured out a river of words between them, anecdotes and old stories, commiseration on new-fangled weirdness (and wonder), painful sharing of secrets so they could never be used against them, and tentative tender words that Steve felt privileged to speak and to hear. They hadn’t been able to get much farther than words, even in the short times Steve could get away to Wakanda, but that was enough. They had time to work through all they had been through.

The sounds from Steve’s earpiece faded slightly, and he signed off as he directed the Quinjet westward. In a few hours they’d start their bait broadcasting, keeping moving to keep Thanos guessing. Once they had word that the Mind Stone was safe, they’d drop the beacon in a remote area and hopefully lure Thanos to where the Avengers could confront him without danger to anyone else.

Steve hoped that would be enough. Tony was gone. Clint wasn’t answering anyone’s calls. Scott couldn’t leave his house. He didn’t dare ask anyone else to risk themselves against such a foe. 

Hours later, over a barren stretch of desert, Steve turned on the beacon. It hadn’t begun to ping for more than a moment when suddenly there was a flash of blue, then red, and abruptly the Quinjet was on the ground with Thanos was in the open drop door. Steve’s heart was pounding nearly out of his chest with adrenaline and fear, but he snatched up his shields as Bucky grabbed his gun, both of them ready to do everything they could do slow the mad titan down.

Thanos regarded both of them with calm, the gauntlet on his hand sparkling with blue, red, green, and purple gems. Steve was used to angry enemies, to arrogant ones, but not one who was so self-assured of his success that he didn’t need to show his passion. That was perhaps the most frightening thing of all.

“An amusing ruse,” he said. Bucky raised his gun and fired off a shockingly loud stream of lead at Thanos, who raised his gauntlet and seemingly absorbed the bullets into a shield of multi-hued light. When Bucky’s clip ran dry, Steve was there the second Thanos dropped the shield, ready to strike with vibranium shields at Thanos’ face, his gauntlet, trying to distract and disarm him in the wake of Bucky’s attack. The hits were solid, but Steve felt like he was hitting concrete. Thanos was moved slightly, but grimaced and twisted his hand. Purple light pulsed, and both Steve and Bucky were tossed to the ground like rag dolls.

“Where is the Mind Stone?” he asked almost casually. “We don’t have to make this any harder than it has to be.”

Steve got up, sliding across the sand-strewn metal decking to kick out at Thanos’ knees to topple him, Bucky following in his wake to batter at his head and arm with his metal fist. Again and again, they fought and were thrown back, rose up and tried again, knowing Thanos was toying with them, and still unable to stop.

When Thanos’ last attack left Bucky gasping and Steve dizzy with exhaustion, Thanos twisted his hand again, and red and green power pulsed, wiping over the landscape.

“I have waited long enough, but I can wait a little more. I need the answer from you. And I’m tired of this futility. We’ll try something else.”

Reality reformed in a sweep of power, leaving Steve in a nightmare. He was standing alone in a doorless room on one side of a one-way mirror, observing a bare concrete room with its single light bulb and drain in the middle of the sloping floor. Bucky was sprawled across the floor as if tossed there, naked, his weapons missing, his metal arm no longer matte black and gold, but the shimmering silver with the red star that had been Hydra’s brand on him. 

Steve didn’t even have time to move before the door into Bucky’s room slammed open, and a stream of STRIKE soldiers came striding through, all swagger and arrogant smirks. The bottom dropped out of Steve’s stomach as he sickeningly recognized this whole scenario from Bucky’s broken, hesitant descriptions of his time in Hydra’s hands. Thanos had brought them back to a time when the Winter Soldier had been punished; the exact time or for what reason, he didn’t know, and Bucky didn’t recall. It wouldn’t have mattered to STRIKE; in the last ten years the Asset had become increasingly more difficult to control, and they had been encouraged to use extreme methods to keep him compliant. Amongst the lean, muscled, swaggering soldiers, Steve recognized Rollins, Rumlow, Thorn, Lopez, Gorgio, and others. People he’d fought besides, people who he thought had had his back. People who had been casually torturing a prisoner of war for years.

Thanos was nowhere in sight, so Steve wasted no time in throwing himself at the glass, battering it with hands and arms bereft of the shields Shuri had made for him, kicking at it with feet clad in running shoes, not the boots of his armor. He was wearing civilian clothes, in a bare room with no door, and nothing he did made the slightest crack or even smudged the surface of the glass.

He didn’t know which of the Infinity Stones were creating this nightmare. Bruce was the only one who knew much about them, and he’d only gotten the briefest of explanations from a sorcerer in New York before he’d been forced to run to Steve. Before Tony had been taken. There had been little else to tell other than their colors, natures, and a hint of their origin. The reality stone had warped the desert around them, the space stone had brought Thanos to them, the power stone made him nearly impossible to hurt, and the time stone… With the time stone, Thanos could have reached back and brought them both here.

The STRIKE soldiers arranged themselves around Bucky’s huddled, crumpled form, their expressions filled with anticipation and twisted with cruelty. One kicked him, his foot landing with a meaty thud, and Bucky moaned. That only seemed to encourage the others, and suddenly there was a melee of kicking and stomping feet, hands grasping at Bucky’s arms, shoulders, or hair just long enough for Steve to catch a small glimpse before someone would punch him back down.

Steve shouted, “Bucky! Get away from him, you bastards!” He punctuated every word with useless strikes at the impenetrable glass, beating against it futilely until the circle of STRIKE soldiers opened up. Rumlow had grabbed Bucky’s hair and hauled him up to his knees, turning him to the mirrored glass. Bucky’s body was littered with quickly-healing bootprints and bruises, and trickles of blood were smeared on his face from where knuckles had broken the skin, cut through with tears. His chest was heaving as he tried to regain his breath, and his eyes were strangely dilated. Then Steve saw Bucky avert his eyes, a flush of shame staining his face, neck, and chest. Steve’s eyes roved down and saw the floor was spattered with globs of white fluid, and more marked Bucky’s thighs. His cock was rapidly becoming hard again after having just come after being beaten.

Rumlow twisted his fist in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky’s cock leapt to attention, tip beading with moisture, and his mouth dropped open in a moan that wasn’t from pain.

Steve felt his face go pale and heard a roaring in his ears when he realized what was happening.

\--

_“They would start off just beating me up. ‘Getting the meat tender,’ was what Rollins called it. Then they’d… Get their pants off. I had to take care of them all. If I stopped, more pain. If I gagged, they’d go to level two. Then three. And more. Until I stopped refusing.”_

That had been the only time Bucky had come out and said what Hydra’s soldiers had done to him. But Steve had learned far more from Bucky’s reactions. Although the scientists of Wakanda had been able to rid Bucky’s mind of its Hydra programming, they couldn’t rid him of decades’ worth of trauma and its aftermath. Spending a leisurely afternoon leaning against Steve on the riverbank was calming and pleasant. But in the evening, by mutual agreement lying down in the same bed, Steve had gone to comfortingly spoon Bucky from behind and had nearly had his jaw broken by his triggered response. Kissing and gentle touches were all right, but sometimes cupping Bucky’s jaw or some other seemingly harmless touch would trigger a bad response, some ingrained reaction to expected cruelty.

He’d never seen Bucky hard, and after a while, stopped expecting it. Hydra had done so many horrible things to him without even directly manipulating his mind, and not even the best scientists on the planet could excise those memories. Bucky couldn’t make himself relax and let go, not even for Steve, no matter how much he loved him. They made it work as best they could, Bucky accepting what platonic touches he could with relief, and even getting some pink-cheeked enjoyment from watching Steve touch himself.

_Steve slowed down, eking out the last few pulses of his orgasm as he finally opened his eyes. Bucky was sitting a few feet away on the bed, all his clothes still on, mouth open slightly, eyes fixed on Steve’s chest as his breathing slowed down. His gaze slowly traveled up to Steve’s eyes, and Bucky smiled._

_“God, you look good, Steve.” Steve wanted to reach for him, wanted to make Bucky feel as good as he was feeling, wanted him to be able to reclaim that part of himself, but didn’t. He’d already tried, and that time Bucky had closed up, his body language growing cold, even leaving the room. The single time Bucky had tried to just lie on top of Steve with only their boxers between them, Bucky had nearly had a full-blown panic attack. No. This had to happen on Bucky’s time, or it never would; Steve respected that._

\--

Hydra had hurt Bucky so deeply that they had twisted not just pain, but most touch and human contact into red-hot trauma and branded them into his nerves. And now Bucky was harder than Steve had ever seen him in this century, moaning in wanton pleasure as some version of Brock Rumlow held him up by the hair.

“No!” Steve yelled, pounding uselessly on the unbreakable glass.

Rumlow only smirked, like he could hear him, and opened his pants. Without preamble, he lowered Bucky’s head onto his erection and began to brutally fuck into his mouth, holding onto Bucky’s long hair as if they were handles. Rollins bent down to pick up Bucky’s hips, and both men went to their knees so Rumlow could keep up his brutal assault on Bucky’s mouth. Rollins considered Bucky’s ass for a moment, large hands digging into the muscle there, before spitting on his dick, lining it up, and ramming himself deep into Bucky.

Bucky’s body spasmed, and Steve knew he had to be raw and burning from the violation. But instead Bucky’s cock jerked and he came into the floor, bobbing up and down in time to the rough pace Rumlow and Rollins were setting. The other STRIKE soldiers were baring themselves, stroking their erections as they laughed and made crude comments.

“See how much he likes it now?” “Bitch always did, now he’s just showing his appreciation.” “Gonna finally get a piece of him…”

Rumlow looked at the mirror where Steve was hidden from view, and smirked. He pulled out of Bucky’s mouth and gave Rollins a significant look. Rollins pulled out of Bucky’s body and stood as Rumlow pulled Bucky up by the hair. Bucky’s face was wet with tears, and his lips were red and swollen. He was mouthing, _No…_ as Rumlow bent him just enough for Rollins to shove back inside.

Bucky’s protest turned into a heartfelt moan that zinged shameful pleasure down Steve’s own spine. Rumlow sneered at Bucky as his cock twitched and began to stiffen again.

“Now you’re being a good boy. This is just how we put you back to bed, fuck you right to sleep,” he said, just loud enough for Steve to hear. “Say thank you.”

Bucky was trembling in a way that had nothing to do with Rollins rough fucking, thighs shaking in a way that meant he wanted to collapse to the floor to focus on sensation rather than standing. But still he tried to shake his head in Rumlow’s grasp, stopping himself as the would-be pain translated into another surge of pleasure. Rumlow just laughed and reached down to grab Bucky’s balls in a vicious, vice-like grip. Bucky gasped, head lolling back as his cock hardened and dribbled pale semen as Rollins kept thrusting inside him.

“no…” Bucky whispered from a throat raw from violation. “Please, no…”

“Aww, he said please, boys,” Rumlow said, and twisted Bucky’s balls in his unrelenting grip. Steve winced on Bucky’s behalf, stomach clenching as a moan of pleasure was forced from him.

Rollins thrust once more, hard enough to lift Bucky up for a moment, and stilled. He pulled out a few moments later, more semen spilling on the floor, and Rumlow lowered Bucky’s head back onto his cock. Soon after, more STRIKE soldiers lined up behind Bucky, each one erect and grinning.

Steve muffled a scream as they took turns, never relenting for more than a minute as they fucked him one after the other as Rumlow remained in possession of his mouth. Some would slap Bucky’s ass, others dig into his vulnerable genitals with a cruel grip, others lean forward to bite him like they were staking a claim. Every brutal, awful touch, Bucky would try not to make a sound. Moans spilled out from between his clenched teeth as his cock kept spilling on the floor, orgasms seemingly washing over him in endless waves. 

The impossible glass remained impervious, but Steve didn’t stop trying to break through it, calling out to Bucky over the snide and cruel comments from STRIKE. His fists and feet went numb when the last man finally finished, Rumlow nearly smothering Bucky as he pulled his face in to mash against his pelvis as he came down Bucky’s throat. They dropped him in a heap of his own spunk and saliva, Rumlow shaking his head in disgust.

“Yeah, he still ain’t talking,” Rumlow said, and nodded at Jack. Jack pulled out a shining knife from his boot, and pulled Bucky upright again by the shoulder. Bucky’s head was lolling, eyes mostly closed, hips thrusting weakly as if chasing the echoes of pleasure that must still be reverberating through his body. “Wake him up, Jack.”

Rollins silently took the knife and pricked at Bucky’s left nipple, drawing a bright bead of blood. Bucky’s eyes shot open and his cock stood at attention again, angry red with stimulation and overuse. Fear and a touch of sick, shameful longing were mixed on his face, horror overlaying everything else as Jack watched his reactions. He sliced very, very delicately over the hard nub of Bucky’s nipple, and Bucky let out a full-throated whimper that spiked Steve’s heart with ice.

“God, no! Stop!” he shouted uselessly, pounding against the glass like a caged animal. Jack didn’t seem to hear him, or care, and carefully made more small cuts across Bucky’s chest, spilling runnels of blood to mix with the sweat, tears, and semen streaking his body. When the knife came to his other nipple, and carefully cut over the top of that as well, Steve groaned in despair as Bucky tensed and came again onto the floor.

Part of Steve that wasn’t frozen in horror was hot with shame. A tiny part of him had longed to see Bucky letting go, enjoying himself, had longed to hold him, stroke him, fuck him or be fucked by him, learning what made him scream and giving it to him any way he wanted it. Right now Bucky was experiencing more physical pleasure than he ever had. Steve’s body was getting some kind of thrill out of seeing Bucky hard and wanting and orgasming, half-hard in his pants in a way he didn’t want. In some sick way, Steve wanted to be a part of it. But not like this. Not ever like this. 

“Still not talking, Brock,” Rollins said casually. Rumlow shrugged, and Steve struggled with himself, knowing some of this couldn’t be real. Thanos was behind all of this, drawing this out of Bucky’s memory and both of their worst fears. That was why Rumlow looked like he had before the Triskellion had fallen on him. But no matter how hard he told himself this wasn’t real, it didn’t change the impenetrable glass under his hands, or Bucky writhing in pleasure in his torturers’ grasp.

“We’ll go level five,” Rumlow said, and pushed Bucky to his knees again, pulling his head up by the hair so his face was clearly visible, slack-jawed with eyes black with helpless pleasure and pain. Rumlow sneered slightly at the glass. “Got a good view, Cap?”

Behind Bucky, Rollins had pulled out… The bottom dropped out of Steve’s stomach. _No._ It was one of the stun batons they’d tried to use on him in the elevator ambush. Rollins lubricated it by rolling it in the greasy pool of spunk on the floor and held it up for inspection, gobs of white dripping off of it, then lowered it to Bucky’s defenseless hole. He fed it in slowly, Bucky moaning the whole time in a continuous drone. The baton was long, hard, and utterly inflexible, but Jack didn’t stop until the whole rigid length of it was buried inside Bucky’s body. He began to thrust hard, punching a grunt from Bucky with every motion, while Rumlow made certain Steve couldn’t miss a single nuance of Bucky’s helpless expressions.

“Stop, please, just _stop!_ ” Steve shouted, feeling his whole body starting to go numb with despair.

“Yeah, still not enough. Jack, level six,” Rumlow said, grinning like a wolf.

Jack thrust the baton in as far as it would go. Then flicked the end to turn it on.

Electricity fired through Bucky’s body, enough to down a normal person into a twitching ball on the floor. He screamed and _came_ , strong pulses of come that splashed up as far as his chin, and _kept coming_ as Rollins kept the electricity on inside him. Steve went frantic, almost berserk, as he realized that much power was going to cook Bucky from the inside out, and Rollins showed no signs of stopping. Bucky’s scream had turned from wordless into a single, unbroken “Steve!” as he vibrated in an unstoppable orgasm that could only end in his death.

As Steve pounded on the glass like a madman, screaming back, “Stop, I’m begging you, stop it, please stop, stop, stop!” he felt a traitorous hardness pressing against the wall he was trying to break through.

In his ear he heard, very faintly, Natasha’s voice. “Steve, we’ve got the Mind Stone out! It’s on the move!”

“Where is it?” rumbled a louder voice behind him. Thanos had made his reappearance.

“Location six, in the computer on the Quinjet,” Steve said, voice ragged and desperate.

Abruptly the nightmare scenario disappeared, and the desert and Quinjet reappeared where they had been before. Thanos took the information and vanished into a blue portal, heading towards one of the other beacons they had prepared. With any luck, the Wakandan special forces were going to make finding the “mind stone” difficult enough that the Avengers could get to the area for a final stand and prepare without interference.

All of that was last on Steve’s mind as he stumbled across the sandy deck to where Bucky was lying crumpled on the ground. Both of their armor was back, and Steve could see no bruising or blood on Bucky’s face. But his pants were soaking wet with a distinct musky odor, damp to the knee with evidence of compulsive orgasms. Bucky was breathing shallowly, still twitching from the overload to his systems as Steve gently took him into his arms.

“Bucky? Oh god, can you hear me?” Steve asked desperately.

Bucky kept his eyes screwed shut, but nodded in tiny increments before he curled up into a trembling ball, shame radiating from every pore. Steve helplessly sat by his side, his own shame making his thighs wet as he tried, and failed, to comfort the man he loved.


End file.
